


if you wait i will trust in time that we will meet again

by halestrom



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:39:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26188858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halestrom/pseuds/halestrom
Summary: Foggy loved Matt, he just didn't know if he was strong enough to tell him. Not when Matt went out each night.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Kudos: 45





	if you wait i will trust in time that we will meet again

**Author's Note:**

> this is just something angsty that got caught in my head and wouldn't let me focus until i got it out. enjoy?
> 
> unbeta'd as always
> 
> song is from london grammar's song 'if you wait.

Matt died.

And then he wasn’t dead.

And then Fisk was back in jail and Nelson, Page & Murdock was a dream that might be realized. Foggy could remember the anger sitting right in his breastbone at the lies that had faded easily enough. The anger that had boiled over again briefly, after seeing Matt at the bar but the relief overpowered the anger, but even that had died away.

It was hard to stay mad at your best friend when said friend had been for all intents and purposes, dead.

It was even hard to be mad when Foggy was stood up again at a restaurant on a random Friday in the name of trying to build their friendship back to what it had been before.

“Are you still waiting for the rest of your party?” the waitress said, the pity in her eyes obvious even though she tried to hide it.

Foggy sighed and shrugged. “Looks like I got stood up,” he said with a grin, not finding it in himself to be mad, instead all he could feel was worry. Worry that Matt was in a ditch somewhere and he wouldn’t know, that Matt was bleeding and needed help. There were so many what if’s with Matt that anger just seemed, counterproductive in the long run.

The waitress blanched and looked around, obviously not sure what to say and Foggy smiled at her. “It’s all good, isn’t the first time, hopefully, the last but I doubt that,” he said looking down at the menu. “I’m hungry though, so,” he said looking at the menu before ordering.

The waitress smiled at him, a strained thing, but took the order and the menu’s and left him alone. Foggy could imagine what she was going to say, but Foggy was used to being second best, and it had been a long time since anyone could embarrass him. Reaching for his briefcase, he grabbed the stack of files he was working on for HCB and got to work. Might as well get something done.

An hour later he was full and a little bit further along in a case than he had expected to be. Dinner had been good, and the comped dessert had been delicious. The waitress had slid it in front of him with a smile that seemed a little less forced, a little less full of pity, and oddly with something close to minor admiration on her face. Foggy didn’t know for what. For being able to move past being stood up by his best friend of too many years? It wasn’t something he was proud of, but everyone had a weak spot in their life. The person they couldn’t leave behind no matter what, and his was Matthew Michael Murdock, Daredevil, ESQ,.

But, it was free dessert and he wasn’t going to look that gift horse in the face. Eating, tipping, packing up, leaving, his coat on, scarf wrapped around his neck to ward off the start of winter. Summer had been hot, and winter was shaping up to be colder and earlier than normal. Foggy wished for a beanie or his long hair. He liked how it looked short, liked the way it hardened the lines of his face and made him look older for once in his life, but he did miss how it kept his ears warm.

The restaurant wasn’t far from his apartment and he made his way up and let himself in, seeing the bare walls that had been stripped when Marci had finally called it quits on him again. Foggy hadn’t been surprised when it had happened. The two of them sitting on the couch they had found together, from a Saturday spent laughing and sitting down on varying ones to find what they wanted. There were good memories on that couch and bad memories.

_”You know he's going to die one day,” Marci said after she had told him she was moving out. “For real?”_

_Foggy didn’t even bother to pretend he didn’t know what she was talking about. Matt might have graduated top of his class, but Marci had been nipping at his heels the whole time._

_“Yeah,” he said softly, dropping his head back on the couch._

_“You going to make a go of it then?” she asked, leaning her head against his shoulder._

_Foggy snorted. “No, I don’t need him to be able to break another part of me.”_

_Marci was silent for a long moment before she kissed his shoulder and stood up. “Think we could make a go of it then?”_

_Foggy was silent this time and he shrugged. Marci knew she was in second place when it came to Foggy’s feelings and she never blamed him for it. She knew how hung up on Matt he was, how he always had been. She was better than he deserved. He swallowed and rolled his head to look at her._

_“Marce,” he said softly. “I don’t think you’ll like the person that’s left behind.”_

Marci had just looked at him with such sadness tinged with pity he had finally looked away. She had kissed his cheek and squeezed his shoulder and left. They had settled back into friendship easily, going for lunch dates to talk circles around all the important things they couldn’t talk about. Marci might be the most pragmatic person he knew, and Foggy was mostly an optimist. And besides, Foggy did his best work with Matt but Marci could push him just as well when she put her mind to it.

Foggy dropped his briefcase on the coffee table and grabbed a beer before dropping onto the couch with a groan. He should call. He wanted to call. But he didn’t want to fight and a part of him was spoiling for one right now. But he was tired of fighting with Matt, and if they were going to open up their law firm again, Foggy needed to get used to the idea of Matt not being there when he should be.

Matt might be his Achilles heel, but it didn’t mean that Foggy forgot.

With another groan, he leaned forward and pulled the papers out, determined to work as many cases as he could to make money before he was broke again. He was just glad the lease on this apartment would be up soon and he could go back to the single room apartment with no view and a weird smell.

Part of him even missed them.

He wasn’t sure how long he worked when the buzzing of his phone drew his attention. He saw the old photo of Matt, from when the man still smiled like there was nothing better in the world than that moment. He missed that Matt, but he wasn’t that Matt, and Foggy wasn't that Foggy anymore. He couldn’t hold life against Matt. He sighed and let it ring twice more before picking it up.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked before Matt could get a word in.

“Foggy,” Matt’s Catholic guilt voice in full blast. “I’m so sorry, I just. I ran into Dennis and Mark from school remember? Them and their wives and we got to talking and then we went to the bar and I forgot. And then we ran into Karen and Claire who reminded me and I’m so sorry.”

Foggy wasn’t surprised. “It’s all good,” he said, flipping the page of the brief in front of him and beginning to read over the next page. “They doing okay?”

For some reason, that made Matt let out a little noise of distress, and Foggy frowned.

“Hey man, you okay?” he repeated, drawing his eyes away from the brief in front of him.

“I stood you up,” Matt said, distress in his voice, and Foggy sighed.

“You had tequila, didn’t you?” he asked, knowing full well that for Matt, tequila led to tears and torment. Everyone who knew them was under strict instructions to keep Matt away from tequila unless they wanted to deal with the tears.

“Bought me shots,” Matt admitted. “Only a few. Like, four, not that many.”

Foggy sighed and dropped his forehead into his palm. Matt might have been able to drink once, but years of repression and the sort of healthy living that people who ran MLM schemes and posted work out videos touted had made Matt an absolute lightweight.

“You need me to come get you?” he asked softly.

“No!” Matt said loudly, and for the first time, Foggy heard someone in the background laughing. “No, m’fine,” he said. “Mark ‘n Dennis are getting me a cab.”

“Good, shouldn’t walk home in this Murdock, you might get lost,” Foggy said as he looked at his bottle of beer and wondered if he should grab another one.

“Nah,” Matt said, a grin evident on his voice. “They want to know my address, what’s my address again?”

Foggy wondered sometimes how Matt had made it to adulthood. He sighed, again, and shook his head. “Hand the phone over to one of them,” he instructed, rubbing his face and leaning back.

“Heyyyyyy Foggggyyyy,” one of the two of them said after a few seconds of shuffling sounds. “Where should we send him?”

Foggy rattled off his address and after exchanging pleasantries, hung up the phone. Foggy stood, changing into a pair of sweatpants, and went downstairs to wait outside for his drunk friend. The cab didn't take long, clearly, they hadn't been far. Foggy paid the cabbie and helped Matt out who, in true form, was getting drunker by the minute.

“Foggy!” Matt all but yelled, wrapping arms around him. “You came!”

Foggy snorted and wrapped an arm around Matt’s waist and started to steer him towards the door. “Yep, I’m here,” he said softly, trying to infect his words with more enthusiasm than he felt right then. “C’mon, in we go.”

Even drunk, Matt was more graceful than Foggy ever was, especially when he didn’t have to worry about where he was walking. They made it to his apartment and Foggy dropped his friend onto the couch and walked over to grab him a glass of water. In the time it took him to fill it, Matt had managed to pull off his tie and jacket and was working on the buttons of his shirt.

“Whatcha doing there?” he asked, walking back.

“Warm,” Matt said with a pout, undoing the shirt and managing to get out of it, followed by his pants and leaving him in nothing but a pair of briefs that Foggy hated and loved in equal measure.

“Alright, well here’s some water,” he said handing the glass to his friend who took it with both hands and a wide smile that made him look so much younger and less stressed, that Foggy felt his heart clench at the sight. Matt was adorable when the weight of the world was off his shoulders, he looked younger and more carefree, and Foggy loved that Matt so much he hated himself for it, because he knew this Matt didn’t exist, not really, not anymore. Not even if he thought about it.

“Thank you Fogs,” Matt said, slumping back against the couch as he held the glass with both hands and drunk it. “Best Foggy ever.”

Foggy snorted and started to clean up the briefs on the table, sliding them back into his briefcase and closing it. He knew he wouldn’t get any more work done. It was the weekend, he doubted even Jeri was working tonight.

“Have fun?” he asked as he dropped onto the couch next to Matt.

“Mmhmm, was fun, shoulda come,” Matt said and Foggy snorted and rolled his eyes. Apparently, Matt was at the forgetting stage of the night. At least he had missed the teary eyes. Foggy hated it when Matt cried.

“Maybe next time,” he said standing up when Matt had finished the water and grabbed the blanket to drop over his friend. “But now, sleep yes? It's late.”

Matt smiled and nodded his head, curling up with the blanket and closing his eyes, secure in his drunk mind that Foggy was right. Sometimes Foggy wondered if he should help Matt turn to alcohol instead of fighting, at least then it was warm smiles and happy giggles instead of small smiles and painful sounding chuckles.

Foggy changed and got ready for bed with that in mind, the thought of Matt being slightly tipsy, of leaning against him and smiling as openly and as trusting as a small child. It didn’t help him sleep easier, but it did help him understand people who had a hard time stopping themselves from daydreaming.

When he woke, Matt was sitting next to him on the open side of the bed, dressed in an old pair of Foggy’s sweats and a shirt that fit across his shoulders and nowhere else, with his legs crossed and a cup of coffee held between both hands. Foggy rolled onto his back and flung an arm across his eyes, even though the lights weren’t on and the sun hadn't risen over the building next door.

“Sleep well?” he asked after a few moments of silence.

“Yeah,” Matt said softly, his voice scratchy and the happiness from it last night gone, replaced with the same world-weariness Foggy was used to.

“Good,” he murmured. “Make one of those for me?”

Matt hummed in response and Foggy turned his head to see a familiar cup on the bedside table. With a sigh, he pushed himself up, and reached for it, feeling the warmth sink into his fingers. It wasn’t cold in his apartment, but it wasn’t warm either, a slight chill that had been headed off by the thick blanket his Mom had made him when he had moved into his first apartment alone. A blanket that had seen more than most would in their entire lives.

Curling his hands around the cup he took a mouthful, scorching his mouth a little bit but it was worth it for the warmth that sunk into his stomach.

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” Matt said softly, and Foggy knew he wasn’t talking about drinking hot liquids.

“Doing what?” he asked.

Matt sighed and dropped his head forward, one hand moving to rub at his knee, picking at the fraying sweatpants. “I keep standing you up and you keep letting me get away with it. You gotta stop.”

Foggy dropped his head back against the wall with a sigh. “Not letting you get away with it,” he said looking at his coffee and wishing he was asleep.

Matt scoffed. “I’ve stood you up six times in the last two months and you’ve not gotten mad once, and that’s not you letting me get away with it?”

Foggy knew this conversation was going to happen sooner rather than later, he had just wished he had more than just pants on. “No, because I’m not mad, I’m not upset, it's fine.”

Honestly, if Foggy wanted too he could have had this conversation with himself. The downward curl of Matt’s lips was expected, the way his shoulders went tense, and the way a myriad of emotions crossed his face before finally settling on worry and hurt.

“Why not?” Matt asked, obviously waiting for the blow.

And Foggy knew what the blow was. That he wasn’t mad because he didn’t care enough about Matt, not anymore. Everyone left Matt at one point or another, and Foggy hated that he had to include himself in that group, and the man just took it with a broken smile and a shrug of his shoulders. Foggy knew it wasn’t just his trust that needed to be won, Foggy had walked out on Matt and no matter how deserved it had been,  
Matt now grouped him in with people who walked away.

“You died,” Foggy said softly, looking down at his hands. For all of Matt’s blindness, being the focus of that hazy gaze was hard, even knowing he couldn’t make out features.

“I didn—”

“You died. You might not have actually died, but as far as I was concerned you died,” Foggy said his voice soft still, fingers tracing along the crack on the side of the mug from when Matt had knocked it onto the floor one time. It was a fragile thing, barely more than a line running down the side of the white porcelain, but it was a weakness waiting for the right stress point and Foggy knew those fractures well, could feel them on his psyche.

“I’m here,” Matt said his voice soft, and a little confused.

“Yeah,” Foggy said and then he swallowed. “Matt,” he started only to stop again and look up at his friend.

Matt was gorgeous in a way that still took his breath. Even slightly hungover, cushion marks across his cheek, a fading bruise by the corner of his mouth, and hair that was sticking up in every direction. His cheeks weren’t as sunken as they had been, but Foggy could see the glimmer of those months in the sharpness of his cheekbones, in how his collarbones always seemed to stand out even when hidden under cotton. 

He sighed.

“You’re going to die, Matt,” Foggy said finally, admitting to what he felt deep in his soul, the belief he felt right down in the marrow of his bones. “I don’t know when, or how, or who, but at some point, in the future being Daredevil is going to kill you and I’m going to have nothing but a grave and memories and I don’t want those memories to be filled with anger. I want good things, I want happy memories of you to hold onto. Missed dinners, that’s…that’s small fries these days, we could get into an argument about it or I can let it slide and we can go to the good times sooner.”

Foggy knew what was coming, but it still hurt to see the brightness appear in Matt’s eyes, the way his chest seemed to heave and constrict at the same time. Matt dropped his head, one hand covering his eyes and Foggy wanted to reach out and touch him but he didn’t know if that was allowed.

“I’m not suicidal,” Matt said after a few moments, his voice tight with unshed tears.

“I know,” he replied. “I know you don’t go out looking to die, but you do go out, go do dangerous things, and one day those things are going to catch up with you. You’re not Luke Cage Matt, you’re not invulnerable to bullets.”

Foggy knew he was being blunt, he could tell by the way Matt’s face slowed seemed to be crumbling more and more as he talked. Matt’s hand shot out and grabbed his cup of coffee before he put both of them on the side table and clambered into his lap, and Foggy wrapped his arms around his friend automatically, holding him tight and holding him close.

The face pressed against his neck was wet, but he wasn’t going to call attention to it any more than he was going to call attention to the wetness on his cheeks. He cradled Matt, hands gripping the back of his shirt and holding him tight as the two of them just held each other and breathed in quick gasping breaths, trying not to cry.

“I don’t want to die Fogs,” Matt said brokenly after a few moments and Foggy could _hear_ the fear in his voice and his own heart stuttered at the sound.

“I don’t want you to either,” he said around the lump that had taken up residence in his throat. 

“I can’t stop,” Matt said softly, his voice as broken as Foggy had ever heard it.

“I know,” he said after a moment. “I know that’s an argument I can’t ever win.”

They both fell silent, wrapped up in each other and Foggy had had his heart broken before, but this was the first time it had broken in anticipation of a future he couldn’t predict. Maybe he was wrong, maybe Matt would outlive them all, old and in some home with aching knees and waiting for some angel to take him home. Foggy didn’t believe, but he believed enough to want that for Matt, to have that peaceful afterlife to make up for the lack of peace he got in the real world.

“I’m always going to fight to come home to you,” Matt said, his face still buried in Foggy’s neck and despite the numbness in his legs, Foggy was never going to be the first one to move.

“Careful Murdock,” he said softly. “That sounds like you’re treading close to something we’ve danced around for a long time.”

Matt chuckled wetly and rubbed his face against the side of Foggy’s neck. “Maybe you’re right, maybe time is finite, and maybe we should stop dancing.”

Foggy swallowed. “Matt.”

“No Fogs just,” Matt said finally pulling back and Foggy could see the red-rimmed eyes, the way his nose was blotchy. Matt did many things attractively, and crying was one of them, the asshole. Matt shifted and moved until he was straddling Foggy’s lap and despite the situation, Foggy flashed back to one of many daydreams he had had about a situation like this. Of course, there had been fewer tears and clothing.

“I can’t predict the future and you can’t either, I could get shot tomorrow, you could get hit by a car tomorrow. We can’t change the future but we can deal with them now,” Matt said, a desperate edge to his voice. “And now, I want to stop dancing around everything we’ve been feeling and I want to kiss you, and want us to move in together and live together and maybe get the firm back out of the dumpster and just be with you.”

“Matt,” Foggy tried again, only to stop when Matt pressed their foreheads together and shook his head. This close, Matt’s eyes seemed to meet his own and his heart stuttered in his chest.

“Foggy,” Matt repeated back at him. “I want this, I want you.”

Foggy could remember when Marci had left, how she had stopped in the doorway, and turned and looked at him. She had watched him for a second before she had sighed and asked him ‘do you really think that part of you won’t break if Murdock dies? Even if you weren’t with him?’

It had struck Foggy still for a long time after the door had closed behind her. It had stuck with him through smiles and dinners, through nights on the couch pressed shoulder to shoulder, talking softly in the wee morning hours, and how breakfast on Sundays was always easier than Saturday night dinner for Matt. Matt who always looked the best when he was sleepy, his edges worn softer and smiles a little quicker.

“Matty,” he said finally, and he didn’t know what was in his voice then but Matt smiled, a small hopeful thing that reminded him of the crack on his mug, ready to give under the slightest bit of pressure.

The kiss was soft, the press of lips hesitant and gentle, and nothing like he had dreamed their first kiss would be like. Matt’s hands were rough, but they cradled his head softly and Foggy’s hands gentled, unclenching from the death grip he had had on his shirt to rest on his hips, holding Matt like a lover for the first time.

Foggy knew his heart would give out when Matt’s did, that the concept of soulmates was real in every sense of the word for two of them. But he tilted his head to the side and pressed into the kiss and let himself hope for a future that stretched out in front of them like the shadows from the dawn through his window.


End file.
